


Contact Cement

by justcourbeau



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, DO NOT LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, F/M, Gen, Handyman AU, Neighbours AU, Slow Burn, Wedding Planner AU, and a showerhead situation, bughead - Freeform, bughead trash, chef kevin, fire escape gardens, is that enough tags, is what i am, mail being delivered to the wrong apartment au, protective older brother jughead, recent graduate jughead, semi-central jb, someone goes into labour eventually, take that as you will, there's a labour day party, wedding planner betty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-12-03 23:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11542572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcourbeau/pseuds/justcourbeau
Summary: “Hi,” Betty started awkwardly. “I think maybe I got some of your mail?” She offered the envelopes to him. Betty felt like she was staring; his eyes were so blue. Dark, but so blue.[or, Jughead and JB move into Betty's Brooklyn apartment building and everyone watches to see how long it takes for them to kiss. In the meantime, shit goes sideways.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story. Sylwrites posted the first chapter of her own neighbours au a few days ago (meet the morning, which you should definitely start if you haven't already), and we had a good laugh over how our U-haul scenes are... well. I'll let you make up your own mind on that. 
> 
> Point is, we decided together that neither of us was going to change any details we had planned, and you all get two neighbour au's at kinda the same time. #sorrynotsorry

_do me a favour,_

_can your heart rate rise a little?_

  * __[_would you be so kind?_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKz_fMAbtCw) _by dodie clark___



* * *

 

It felt like he had been driving for _weeks_.

The air conditioning in the rental truck was broken and it was the middle of August. Sweat kept gathering on his forehead, even with the windows rolled down. Jughead reached for a bottle of water, feeling his back unstick damply from the driver’s seat. When he sat back a moment later, he tried to ignore the urge to cringe.

He wanted a cold shower and a hot meal, closely followed by a soft bed, but the likelihood of that happening was hovering around 0%. He had to get to the apartment, do the walk through with the building manager, and then unpack the truck largely by himself, unless Archie managed to get away from work early.

737 miles down, only 18 to go.

Jughead glanced in his mirrors again, making sure JB was still somewhere behind him. And there she was, one car back, barrelling along in his old Honda. With air conditioning.

This had been a whirlwind.

Jughead was just finishing school himself when Jellybean had called him, distraught.

“Jug, I don’t know what to do,” she’d whispered. Something had happened, and she was hesitant, but he had to know what it was in order to help her. With some coaxing and reassurance, Jellybean had reluctantly informed him that she was pregnant. Jelly was 20 years old, but she was still living with their dad in Riverdale, in a trailer park, with gang associations. And she was determined not to raise a child there.

“Have you - are you sure?” Jughead remembered asking.

“Positive,” she’d groaned. “What am I gonna _do_ , Jug?”

“Come live with me,” he’d suggested half a beat later. It was the most obvious solution.

From that moment on, everything had been thrown into chaos.

Jughead had pushed through finals and finished his undergraduate degree before looking for an apartment for them - all three of them - in New York, where he was living. Jughead figured it would be easier for Jelly to take classes or work while in a big city with _his_ help, than it would be for her alone, in a small town, with _no_ help. Not that he had a single idea of how to care for a baby, other than the basic ‘feed it, change its diaper, make sure it doesn’t fall from a great height’ method.

He’d applied to jobs all over, hoping for something with good pay, but for now he was a stocker at the local grocery store, working as close to full time as he could get.

As it happened, his roommate, Archie, had been thinking about moving in with his girlfriend, and so the timing had actually worked out for everyone. Arch would go live with Veronica, and Jug would find a place suitable for himself, his sister, and his soon-to-be niece or nephew.

“We’re totally gonna cramp your style,” Jelly had said once the tears had stopped.

“Like I had any to begin with,” he’d quipped, making her laugh.

That was how, a few months after that fateful phone call, he found himself moving his little sister and all her stuff from rural Indiana to the Big Apple. Now he just had to finish the job, and get everything upstairs into their new apartment, hopefully before the sun went down.

By the time they pulled up to the building, Jughead was ready to fall asleep. Nonetheless, he pried himself out of the seat and stood, stretching his back with a groan. Jelly pulled into the space behind him half a second later, and did the same.

“So, this is home now?” she asked, walking over and looking up the red building with him.

“Better than the trailer park, at least,” Jug commented.

“ _Much_ better than the trailer park, are you kidding?” She wrapped her hand around his arm, just over his elbow. It was warm, and they were both clammy from the heat but it didn’t matter. She gave him a little squeeze and he looked over at her. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re family, JB. That’s what family does.” He pulled her into a hug. Her hair was a dull, silvery white with what he thought had been a tint of purple at some point, but it had grown in a bit now, her dark roots showing. He gave one of the pieces in her ponytail a tug, which earned him a swat.

“Welcome home, then.”

* * *

The walkthrough went pretty quickly, and Jughead officially signed the lease and took possession. JB skipped from room to room, looking out each window, inspecting every closet, sighing happily, and throwing windows open in a somewhat dramatic fashion.

“Which room do you want, Jug?” she called from down the hall.

“The smaller one,” he called back, his voice echoing in the empty apartment.

“Are you sure?” His little sister appeared from out of the bathroom, ears perked.

“Yeah. You’re gonna need the room more than I will.” Jughead refilled his water bottle from the tap, gulping some down a moment later.

“What if you get a girlfriend?” she continued.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, JB.” Jughead tried not to laugh. He very much doubted he was going to have time to have a girlfriend, even _if_ he managed to meet a girl he actually wanted to date. He was going to have to work as much as he could where he was, and maybe get something else for a few shifts a week. Babies were not cheap, and at some point, JB wasn’t going to be able to work.

“Fine. Let’s get a move on.” JB headed for the door, propping it open.

“Actually, why don’t you go get groceries? I’ll start, and Archie will be here soon.”

“I can _help_ , Jug. It’s fine.”

“I know you _can_ , but why don’t we just not argue about this again?” Jughead sighed. “It’s three flights of stairs. You shouldn’t be going up and down them repeatedly.”

“Oh my god, I’m not a cripple,” she scoffed, but he could tell by her tone that she wasn’t going to argue again. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll go get stuff for that.”

“Whatever you want. Simple cause I don’t know where all the kitchen stuff is,” Jughead reminded her. “Do you have enough money?”

“Yep, I got it,” JB breezed.

They trekked back down the stairs and Jughead pulled their bags from the backseat of his car, the one she drove into New York, and set them on the lip of the moving van.

“Got my phone, got my wallet, I’ll be back soon!” JB chirped, tucking her small bump in behind the steering wheel again.

“Put gas in the car, too, you damn hooligan,” Jughead exaggerated with a fist wave, wide, robotic smile in place as she pulled away, shaking her head at him.

Jughead started moving stuff up to the apartment, and it was slow going. The air in the stairwell was still and stagnant in the heat, making his back damp again immediately. He was just about to start taking side tables and chairs up when he heard someone call his name.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you were coming,” he said, looking up to see Veronica. She was dressed down as far as he had ever seen in his years of knowing her, in some shorts and a loose shirt.

“Of course,” she responded with a smile, leaning in for a quick squeeze. “Many hands make light work. Archie’s on his way now, too.”

Veronica grabbed few boxes with Jughead and followed after him up to the third floor, chatting all the while.

“How was the drive? And leaving the park?”

“It was okay. I hadn’t been back for years. I’m really glad Jelly decided to come out here though, it was a mess.”

The boxes were labelled in scribbled font and they moved them to their designated rooms.

“How’s she doing?”

They descended again for another run.

“Alright, I guess.” He shrugged. “I don’t think she really wanted to leave Dad. But she didn’t really have a choice if she wanted to give the baby a better childhood than we had, which seems to be the case, thankfully.” Jughead paused to shift and stack some things. “How’s living with Arch?”

“Does he always just leave his socks wherever he steps out of them?” she asked. “Like, I knew he did that sometimes, but I did _not_ know that was a daily thing.”

Jughead snorted, holding the door open for her with his elbow.

“Just wait until he starts leaving you half a tablespoon of milk in the container.”

* * *

Betty carted her tote bag along, nearing home. It was stuffed to capacity, and digging into her shoulder in such a way that she was sure she would need to schedule some sort of chiropractic appointment in the next week. Which, of course, was just what she needed in the middle of a busy summer wedding season.

There was a wedding that coming weekend, and she was in full damage control mode. The caterers they had contracted for this particular reception had just had a plumbing problem, and they had to have their entire kitchen floor jackhammered up to replace some faulty pipes.

That left Betty in a scramble to find another caterer to feed the wedding guests, and so far it wasn’t going all that well.

“Kevin, I know it’s last minute - yes, I know - but I’m in a very tight bind here,” she spoke into the phone scrunched between her shoulder and her ear. “I wouldn’t ask unless it was my absolute last -”

Her building was one door away, but the tote bag strap chose that moment to snap under the weight of everything, sending a cascade of papers, pamphlets, receipts, and bills scattering around on the Brooklyn sidewalk, her agenda flopping open and letting all its contents fly free.

“Oh my god - I’ll call you back,” Betty rushed to step on a nearby florist directory to keep it from blowing away, and then very quickly scurried around to try and snatch everything up without flashing a stranger her underwear.

“Woah, mayday.”

Betty turned briefly at the voice. A young woman with pale lilac hair was bending down to catch some papers for her, and she heaved a sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the wad of essential nonsense from her outstretched hand.

“No problem.” The woman grinned. “Did we get it all?” She looked around quickly.

“I think so.” Betty mirrored the woman’s actions, casting a glance around the sidewalk, before she held out her hand. “I’m Betty, nice to meet you.”

“I’m JB.” The woman shook it. “Do you need some help with that?”

JB pointed to Betty’s broken bag, and everything wadded up and shoved back inside. As she shifted, Betty spotted the belly poking out over the woman’s jeans and the massive bags of groceries in the backseat of the open car Betty assumed was the woman’s.

“I should be asking _you_ that.” She nodded vaguely in the direction of the Trader Joe’s bags overflowing with food.

“I’m fine,” she laughed easily, pulling her shirt down. “Besides, I’ve got help on the way. Any minute now.”

As if on cue, two men came bounding down the front steps of Betty’s building, both sweaty and bedraggled. One tall and dark, the other slightly shorter, stocky, and ginger-haired.

“Jellybeeeeeean!” the one with red hair called, reaching the women first and enveloping her in a large hug, pulling away a moment later. “What are you packin’ in there?”

“They say it’s a baby but it might be an alien, we aren’t sure. Jug’s hoping for a brand new toaster oven, but I keep having dreams about gourmet ice cream makers, so who knows,” she gave her slightly rounded midsection a pat before squeezing the ginger man once more and reaching to hand him a grocery bag.

“And who’s this?” The dark-haired man ambled behind the ginger, his hair sticking to his forehead before being raked back.

“This is Betty,” JB - which must stand for Jellybean - said. “She had an unfortunate bag-snapping accident. Betty, this is Jughead, and Archie.”

“I’m also your neighbour, I think,” she said, holding out her hand to each of them in turn, “if you’re moving in here.”

“As we speak.” He nodded toward the moving van a few parking spots up.

“Well, welcome! If you need anything, I’m in 208. Are you guys… Do you need some help now?” She pointed at the stuff still hanging out in the moving van.

“Nah, we’re almost done,” the man named Archie replied.

“Thanks though!” JB gave her another grin.

With a round of goodbyes and nice-to-meet-yous, Betty lugged her bag to her hip and headed up the front steps, praying that when she called Kevin back about the caterers, some luck would have swayed her fortunes.

* * *

 “Thank you _so_ much, guys,” JB groaned, leaning against the threshold at the front door.

“Yeah, seriously, thank you.” Jughead nodded. “Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner tonight?”

“No, Jug.” Archie shook his head. “You guys are beat, we’re beat. You can feed us a thank you dinner another day when we’ll all be able to stay awake for it.”

“We’ll see you again tomorrow for the rest of the stuff.” Veronica smiled, pulling JB in for quick hug.

“Safe drive home.” Jelly waved, sending them off. “Goodnight!” She sagged again for a moment before standing and closing the door on the hallway. “What the actual fuck, I’m tired and I hardly did anything.”

“I told you, demon spawn. That’s what you get for being such a hellion.” Jughead shrugged. “I need food in the next 37 seconds or - yes,” he hissed, “you got the bacon ones.”

Jelly had returned from the store, stocked up on the basics and a few extra bits she knew Jughead liked. He grabbed a handful of chips out of the bag and proceeded to devour them.

“Okay, I’m gonna throw dinner together, go shower. You stink.”

“How rude,” Jughead snarked. “I just dragged your mattress up three floors so you can sleep all comfy tonight. _I_ don’t even have my mattress here yet.”

“Yes, thank you, truly. But please go shower.” Jelly laughed, giving him little prods in the direction of the bathroom.

“Do you know where that new shower curtain went?” he called back to her. The hardwood under his feet creaked as he made his way down the hallway.

“I put it up already!”

Truth be told, he was desperate to get under the water, and made no more fuss about her orders. He located his bag with the essentials he’d packed the day before, and quickly washed up.

When he emerged, squeaky clean and sleepy from the hot water, he threw clean sheets onto JB’s bed for her and found some for him to go on the couch. Veronica had made sure all the things they would need in the first 24 hours were easily locatable because moving was the worst thing ever, and she was a genius.

Jelly was just taking something out of the oven when he ventured back out into the living area.

“I hope grilled cheese sandwiches and tater tots are to your liking because that’s what I wanted.”

“No complaints,” Jughead groaned, sinking into the couch cushions with a soft _flump_. “I guess we’ll just eat something green tomorrow. That’s a thing we have to do now, right?”

“ _Now_? We've been adults for a while, Jug, so that comment is alarming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if this interests you! I love me some semi-central JB. There needs to be more of her around these parts, imo.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jughead woke up the next morning, he kept his eyes closed for as long as possible, savouring even the sensation of the semi-dilapidated couch under him. His muscles ached, his joints were sore, and today he had to go load up all his stuff from his old apartment and move it here.

The very last thing he wanted to do after yesterday. After this whole _week_ , if he was being honest.

Eventually, he cracked his eyelids, unable to hold off the call of the bathroom for much longer. It still wasn’t full bright outside. Instead, pale, dusty light fell in through the open curtains as Jughead pulled himself to his feet, his body moaning in vehement protest. The walk to the washroom was more a of stinted stagger, but once he emerged and stretched more, he felt his groove come back.

Jellybean shuffled out of her room a few minutes later as he was pulling on his sneakers to go get coffee.

“Coffee?” he asked, tying his laces.

“Decaf, please,” she responded, still sleep-hushed. “I got stuff for eggs and bacon. Interested?”

“Hell yes. Be back in a few.”

* * *

 

“Please, Kevin?” Betty begged.

“It’s next weekend?” her chef friend asked from the other end of the line.

“Saturday.” Betty nodded enthusiastically, though he couldn’t see her.

Kevin was silent for a moment. “Okay, I have an idea. Let me figure out if it’s doable... I’ll call you back in a minute.”

Betty gave an excited squeal, hopping up from her couch with a grin. That sounded promising. It was useless to think about what she would do if the answer was yes, because it may well not be in the end, but nonetheless, she was happy. She threw her stuff into her bag and started packing up from her work whirlwind.

Betty chose to work from home that morning, trying to scramble and get the caterers sorted for the one wedding, and then also solving a logistical problem involving marquee setup and takedown for another. Time marched on, and suddenly it was early afternoon.

She deposited her coffee mug into the sink, along with her breakfast dishes; she hated leaving stuff to wash later, but time was of the essence.

In a few minutes, Betty had changed and brushed her teeth, and just as she secured a hair tie around her pony, her phone rang again.

“Kev?” she answered, grabbing her recently-repaired tote bag and her purse, and shoving her sunglasses onto her head deftly. Getting out the door was a fiasco sometimes.

“Okay, so I can’t get away from the restaurant on Saturday but my sous-chef is willing to help you out. She’s a good friend outside of work as well, and I think she’ll be just as good at the job,” Kevin said.

Betty pushed open the emergency exit to the stairwell, and took the steps two at a time.

“Oh my god Kevin, you’re a _lifesaver_!”

“Oh, I _know_. So, okay, get me the menu they approved before, and I’ll try to figure out what we can do to make it happen.”

“Okay, that’s great, I’ll bring it over later. What time - _oomph_.” Betty walked right into something with all the force of her momentum.

“Betty?” Kevin asked from the phone in her hand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Betty stuck out a hand to stable herself and keep from toppling over.

It didn’t hurt, the collision, because it was a mattress that she had run into.

“We’re good, you good?” a familiar voice came from the other side of the padding. A second later, Jughead popped out from behind it, followed by a dark-haired woman that wasn’t JB.

“Yeah, sorry, I was in a bit of a hurry,” she explained, flushing.

“Here, Jug, help me shift this so she can get by,” the raven-haired woman said, and Betty thanked them quickly.

“Nice seeing you again! Remember, 208!” Betty raised a hand and took the last flight of stairs at a run. “Sorry, Kev, I literally almost knocked some people over. I’ll see you later tonight, text me when to come over!”

* * *

 

Every box, bag, sack, and basket of their stuff was finally relocated into the apartment. Archie and Veronica had come back the next day to help Jughead move all his stuff from their old apartment, and then Jughead had been able to return the rental and make his way back to their new home.

This was kind of a big deal for him. He hadn’t lived under the same roof as JB since they were kids. Their mom had taken Jelly when she had left their dad - and Riverdale - years ago. By the time JB had decided she wanted to live with their dad again in her late teens, Jughead had already moved into the city and started at NYU.

He wasn’t really sure what this new situation was going to bring.

He was taking on a lot of responsibility, he knew, but it felt right. He couldn’t stand by and let his sister make do with the bare minimum, watch her scrape by emotionally and financially as she did the important job of raising her child.

They had briefly talked about what she would do once she was in the city. She maintained that she would look for some part time work and bank the cash for them. She was completely aware of what Jughead was taking on, the enormity of it, and she was damn determined not to let him think she took it for granted.

She would find some work where she could, and when she gave birth, she would take some time off before doing some part time night and weekend work so that she wouldn’t have to pay a sitter to watch the baby - Jughead would likely be home from work at those times. Certainly not what he had _planned_ his life looking like, but as he had said to his little sister before, that’s what family does. They support each other. They form a team and make the best of it.

Jellybean had been bopping along to the radio in the Honda as Jughead drove them back from the rental dropoff place.

“You’re alright, right?” she piped up, turning the music down, and he looked over. She was leaning against the passenger side window and gazing out at the city whipping by them. It was a second before she turned to meet his eyes. “With all this?”

“Yeah, Jelly,” he responded with a small smile. “I’m good.”

“I still don’t really know how I’m gonna be able to pay you back,” she mumbled, fiddling with the hem of her shirt before dropping it consciously.

“You don’t need to,” he answered, eyes back on the road. “Well, actually, you can. Just work really hard, and be a good mom, and get yourself through school. That’ll be my payment.”

She was quiet for the rest of the ride home, and Jughead could only guess that she was thinking over everything that was about to come their way.

She hadn’t really elaborated on the situation, but his understanding was that Jelly had been unwilling to stay in Riverdale with the guy she’d been dating at the time of conception. He got the vague impression that the guy had been a Serpent, and a bad choice that she’d regretted almost instantly. He hadn’t seen one shred of evidence that Jelly felt torn about leaving this guy behind, and he didn’t get the sense that the guy had been overly upset about her going either.

_That_ wasn’t something he was going to push to find out just yet, though. He would let her offer it up if she felt like sharing.

They parked on their street and made their way back home in comfortable silence.

The neighbourhood was pretty nice, as JB had said. It was fairly clean, didn’t have a lot of rundown buildings or homeless tents. It was a decent price for what it was, and it was within walking distance of transit for JB for when she needed it and couldn’t use his car.

Hopefully, things were looking bright for the new trio.

* * *

 

“A new guy in the building? Is he cute?” Kevin popped the cork off the second bottle of wine, and Betty debated whether or not she really needed another glass.

“Oh my god, Kev, settle down.” She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t mean for me,” he quipped. “I mean for you. Anything catch your eye?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged. “There were two guys. Both handsome in different ways, I suppose.”

“ _Two_ , oh my god. Tell me more,” he pressed, his face a mask of unadulterated delight.

They had sorted the menu. Betty needed to book a for-rent commercial kitchen in the morning, and redirect all the supplies for the banquet. Kevin had worked his magic and set her up with his Sous-Chef, Ethel, and a bunch of other employees of the restaurant that weren’t scheduled, had volunteered to help the Head Chef’s best friend, or were his personal industry acquaintances that could be counted upon for quality work. She had no idea how he’d been able to do it on such short notice, but that was why she had called him over anyone else.

They would all be well-compensated, of course, and Betty was just grateful that she wasn’t completely screwed.

“There were girls there, too. Calm. Down. I’m sure they’re both taken, considering.”

“Seriously, Betty, you’re not even going to indulge me?”

“ _No_ , Kev.” She laughed. “It’s not like I have time to date anyway, or have you conveniently forgotten the fiasco you just helped me avoid? Besides, not every guy looks at me and wants to date me, contrary to your belief.”

He started to open his mouth to rebuke her, but she cut him off.

“And I’m not saying that in the self-deprecating, reassure-me-I’m-pretty way. I mean it in the same way that I mean not every guy who looks at you wants to rip your clothes off in the next second.”

“Speak for yourself,” he mumbled, filling his own glass anyway.

* * *

 

A week later found Betty in a small lull between her own weddings, and because she was on top of the two for the following week, she had seized the opportunity to take a few days off to run errands and do some relaxing before the end of August crunch at the wedding planning outfit she worked for. She was on call in case anything came up, but essentially, it was time to put her feet up and regain some sanity.

It had been six - eight, _nine_ _?_ \- months since her breakup with Reggie, and the apartment felt too big without another person in there with her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look for a roommate. Having the privacy and the quiet of living alone had become fairly indispensable in the wake of the break up. During that time, she had thrown herself into work in order to keep herself busy for as much of her days as possible.

Currently, she was perched on the sofa, latest library loan open against her thighs, and a pint of cappuccino ice cream in her hand.

Dinner of champions.

When she was finished, she went to rinse the container and drop it in her recycling bin, only to discover that it needed to be emptied. Leaving the apartment, she trotted down to the main floor, dropped her recyclables off in the big bins for the building, and stopped to pick up her mail.

She lived a life of true excitement.

Upon arrival back in her apartment, Betty set her keys on the counter and leaned a hip against the dishwasher, flipping through her bills and mentally cataloguing them. There were two pieces of mail, though, that weren’t hers. They were addressed for her apartment but there was no Forsythia Jones living here with her, of that she was sure. In fact, she didn’t know a single person in the building named Forsythia.

Betty looked up at her ceiling.

The new people who had been moving in last week lived directly above her. The young woman who was expecting, Archie had called her Jellybean. That was surely a nickname. Maybe this was her mail?

Thinking of the pale purple hair and the bubbly personality, Betty found it hard to believe the woman’s name was _Forsythia_ , but maybe that was why she went by the name of a candy instead.

The theory made enough sense that Betty gathered up the mail and set off for the third floor. She came to a halt outside 308 and paused to listen. There were people inside, the sounds of their chatter reaching her ears.

_Knock-knock-knock._

A moment later, the dark-haired man opened the door, and the sound level from inside rose.

“Hi,” Betty started awkwardly. “I think maybe I got some of your mail?” She offered the envelopes to him. Betty felt like she was staring; his eyes were so blue. Dark, but _so_ blue.

“Oh they’re my sister’s, sorry,” he said, glancing down at the name printed on the labels. “She made a mistake on the mail forwarding thing. Jelly!” He called the last part over his shoulder, but got no response.

It sounded as if there were people over.

“Housewarming party, not my idea.” He must have spotted her looking over his shoulder as well, because he gestured inside.

“Oh hi! Who’s this, Jug?” The dark haired woman with the mattress she’d nearly bowled over last week was already making her way over to the pair at the door.

“This is Veronica, she was the one who organized it,” he said to her before turning to answer the question the other woman had posed. “Uh, this is…” he petered off, unsure.

“It’s Betty,” she offered with a polite smile. “I just came to drop off some mail I got by mistake,” she answered the question, before looking back to the man. “Don’t worry, I forgot your name, too.”

“It’s Jughead.”

She hadn’t forgotten it; who could forget a name like _Jughead?_

“And _I’m_ Veronica Lodge,” she stuck a hand out for Betty to shake. “We didn’t get a chance to meet the other day. You have to stay, we have _so_ much pizza.”

“Oh, well -” Betty was shocked by the sudden invitation.

“Did you not invite her in already, Jughead? How rude,” Veronica declared, ushering Betty inside and leaving Jughead to close the front door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS guys you're all so great for supporting me. Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing. They make my days.


	3. Chapter 3

Jughead remembered watching her blonde ponytail bounce away from him on both occasions they’d chanced to meet before now, but as Veronica steered her into his living room, Betty turned back to look at him over her shoulder before following her through.

 _Betty_.

It suited her.

Blonde hair, wide eyes, bright smile. Jughead shut the front door with an unplaceable feeling.

Veronica had always been one to take matters into her own hands. She drew people to her; _charisma_ , his brain supplied, something he was fairly certain he lacked in a large way. Veronica never had trouble striking up a conversation with a stranger, and he was presented with another opportunity to see that skill in action.

Archie’s raven-haired girlfriend introduced her to some of their other guests, Midge and her friend Nancy. Everyone had come over for pizza and drinks, as thanks for helping him and Jelly move in some way or another.

“Betty!” JB exclaimed upon her return from the bathroom.

“Hello, again,” the blonde gave a little wave to his sister.

“What are you doing here? Did Jug offer you a drink yet?” she breezed by him, giving him a look.

“She _just_ got here,” he huffed.

“I did, yes,” Betty grinned.

“We have beer, pop…” Jelly recited from the kitchen. “Milk, even. And Veronica brought wine. Pick your poison.”

“Oh, um, just water, I think,” she answered, sidling over and away from the other ladies.

“Not to sound rude,” JB began, filling the request with a wry smile, “but why _are_ you here?”

Betty laughed, and Jughead stared, slightly dumbstruck. JB’s eyes flicked to his minutely and he saw her lips press together for a brief moment.

“Well,” Betty took a sip of water, her own eyes catching Jughead’s for a moment, before he looked away and busied himself with refilling a bowl of chips. “I got some mystery mail for a _Forsythia Jones_.”

Jughead knew without looking that JB’s face contorted in lightly veiled disgust, and he heard it in her answering tone.

“We can thank our parents for that lovely namesake. Well, shit, I fucked up the address. Sorry, Betty,” she apologized, glancing at the envelopes; she had clearly filled out the wrong apartment number on the form at the post office. “But now you’re here! I have no friends in the city,” she said, laying the mail on the corner of the counter. “So tell me all about yourself. Do you wanna go to the Met with me? I’ve never been -”

“Jug!” Archie called from around the corner, and Jughead left his sister to chat with their neighbour. He was quickly pulled into a board game, but later, he looked up to find Betty’s eyes locked on him.

His scalp prickled and his neck burned hot as she looked away, back to JB.

* * *

 

“So, Betty.”

It was meant as a complete statement, and Jughead groaned internally, closing his eyes. Were little sisters always like this?

He remained resolutely concentrated on his laptop, fingers hardly faltering at her interruption.

“You like her.”

Another full statement.

“I don’t _know_ her,” he answered, realizing that this freight train would not stop until he participated, however minimally, in this line of interrogation.

“Well, it’s a good thing she’s coming with us to the Met this afternoon.”

At that, Jughead looked up. A glint of self-satisfaction passed over her features before she raised her coffee cup and took a swig, surveying him over the rim stoically.

“I’m working.”

“We both know you aren’t,” she commented lightly.

“Jellybean, _what_ are you trying to do?”

“My preternatural senses are tingling.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“I argue _‘preternatural’_ needs no explanation.”

Jughead resisted the urge to snark, and instead started typing again.

* * *

 

After much badgering by JB, he agreed to go. Despite the fact that he'd lived in New York City for the better part of the last six or seven years, he'd never actually taken the time to go visit the Metropolitan Museum. It just hadn't been on his radar.

Everything would be fine. Jellybean would chatter enough for both Jones’ and Jughead was pretty certain he would be able to ‘get lost’ in a nearby coffee shop if it turned out to be not his thing.

That was the plan.

But then Betty had met them at the front steps of their building and -

He'd spent his NYU years in dedicated study and self-imposed anonymity. He _noticed_ the fairer sex often enough - there just hadn't been anyone that caught his attention with looks, and then _held_ it with personality, not for awhile.

And then he laid eyes on Betty again, after watching her at their housewarming party, after watching her really chat with his sister and make her laugh, watching her help tidy up a bit after people started leaving, watching her give JB a big hug and offer help with anything she might need considering what was ahead for her.

She was waiting, standing at the bottom of the steps, and Jughead was pretty sure that despite the fact there was an uncommonly nice breeze, there was no oxygen left for his lungs to take in. She was swathed in a bright, royal blue dress, the kind that went right down to the ground, and her hair was shimmering gold in the sunlight. Wisps of it curled out of the precarious pile on top of her head, and she turned at the sounds of their footsteps.

“Kev, they're here, I gotta go,” she spoke into her phone, continuing a beat later. “Yup, bye!”

* * *

 

Jellybean’s older brother was quiet. He drove them, giving the impression that he was listening to her and JB, but Betty wondered if he didn’t actually tune the whole conversation out. Either option was a possibility. It wasn't until after her and JB spent the entire ride over town talking about Betty’s fairly young niece and nephew that he gave her a clue.

“Thank you,” Jughead said. The two of the them were left in JB’s wake as she hop-skipped over to pay for their parking, the door behind Jughead’s seat still standing open from her flight. Betty unclipped her seatbelt, and he mirrored her action.

“For what?” she asked.

“For…” He turned to motion after his sister. “Talking to her? I don’t know. Being so nice. Very… _Betty_.”

She hardly had the chance to open her mouth to respond before Jellybean was back at the car.

“Okay, I’ve heard talk of actual suits of armour here, is that true? Because _if_ it’s true, that needs to be the first thing I see.”

* * *

 

“Oh my god, you don’t have to hover,” JB grumbled.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jughead pressed.

“Yes,” she answered, exasperated. “Look, I have a bench, apple juice, _and_ a muffin. I’m _fine_. I’ll come find you guys in a few.”

“Okay,” Betty answered hesitantly. “Text me if you need anything.” The teal cover of her phone case was visible in her hand.

They both turned away from her, and headed for the nearest gallery wall, throwing glances back and forth and over their shoulders at the younger girl.

“I told her she does too much,” Jughead mumbled.

“I get the feeling she doesn’t listen to people all that often, though.” She fixed him with a look for a moment before moving her focus to a nearby painting. “‘Very… _Betty_ ’?” Her voice denoted a question, and he realized she was quoting him from the car, and not commenting on the art.

“Yeah.” He half-laughed. “You’re…”

There was just _something_ about Betty. She was so _good_ and _happy_ , and she nearly shone with the brightness of it, as if burnished from the inside out. It was positively entrancing, and he had to remind himself to look away from her occasionally to blink the sunspots from his eyes.

Like now. Like when she was looking up from where she stood at his side, the blue of her dress making her eyes appear more green by comparison.

 _Breathe_.

Jughead looked away, his brain short-circuiting.

“I’m… _what?”_

The painting was a wash of blues and greens and a bridge - maybe? Maybe it wasn’t a pond after all, it _was_ Impressionist -

“I don’t know,” he answered, a little late. “Kinda like art. I never know how to describe art, either.”

The minute the words left his mouth, he wanted to drop his head to a tabletop repeatedly. _How_ could he have let that out without reciting it in his head first -

Her head was tilting to the side, and she was surveying the same painting with laser-focus.

“Jughead Jones,” she started easily, her gaze thankfully fixed in place on the gallery wall and _not_ his quickly reddening face, “did you just call me art?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little update before SDCC2017 starts and everyone loses their damn mind. A reminder that I'll probably be over on tumblr screaming and crying so if you want to blather on about things with me, I'll be there.
> 
> Leave me a note if you're liking this!


	4. Chapter 4

_“Kinda like art. I never know how to describe art, either.”_

The blush that had ravaged over Jughead’s neck and face after that line came back to Betty even over a week later, and she sighed. The memory gave her a heady, swooping sensation somewhere near her navel and she struggled to tamp it down.

She wasn’t really sure, here. Was she even ready to think about dating again? And maybe he wasn’t even _single_ \- she was getting ahead of herself. Veronica was clearly with Archie, if the raven-haired woman’s seat in his lap at the housewarming party gave any indication. Jellybean was his sister, but there had also been a few other women there. Maybe he was dating one of them.

She shouldn't even be entertaining the idea at all, about anyone, really. It was the last half of August and there were weddings almost back to back until slowing to a more reasonable pace after September. Most of her energy needed to be directed there, even if that sometimes meant subsisting on ramen and chocolate drizzled croissants out of sheer laziness and over-exhaustion.

Betty set her phone down to charge after a long conference call with a nervous bride and the florist providing the flowers for her wedding the following weekend. She needed a shower and potentially the whole bottle of rosé in the fridge.

She made a stop at the window that opened onto the fire escape, poking her head out to survey her urban garden. Over her time in the building, she’d managed to cram 23 containers of organically enriched soil - ranging in size from small potted plant to giant front step display - onto the old platform outside her window. They were all bursting with green and drinking up the sun. Noting that the daylilies need an extra shot of water later, she retreated to the bathroom and cranked the water on.

Everything was fine -

Until she near-simultaneously burst into song and got shampoo suds in her eyes. Which led to a blind flail.

Which caused the inevitable catastrophe.

Betty’s hand closed around the shower head to keep herself upright and it fell away from the tiled wall with a shocking amount of ease, accompanied by her shriek and the metallic bang of it dropping to the floor of the tub.

Water streamed out onto her, over her, and the soap in her eyes hindered any quick thinking she might have been capable of otherwise. After an embarrassing stretch of time that had her feeling along the tiled walls and smooth curve of the tub, Betty fumbled with the taps, cutting the water off.

There was a knock at the door three minutes after her frantic call to the building manager, and she pulled the towel around herself tightly.

* * *

 

Jughead knew which apartment Betty lived in, and so he also knew _who_ he would be seeing when the building manager called him, asking him to go down the apartment below his. Maria relayed very little information on what was actually wrong, but it involved water, and he was positive he didn’t have much in the way of plumbing skills.

When they moved in, Maria had mentioned how she was looking for another ‘on call handyman’ for the building, and Jughead had offered himself up as a tentative solution. He’d already patched some drywall, repainted the railings in the back alley, powerwashed the front walk-up, and replaced about 87 lightbulbs around the property.

He wasn’t really _qualified_ , as in he never went to school for a trade and learned any skills officially. But he’d been known to MacGyver a solution to many a problem in the past, and extra cash was extra cash.

He hadn’t really been expecting Betty to answer the door in a distractingly small towel, hair dark and saturated with water, soap suds still sitting on her shoulders. But then again, he’d only _just_ gotten the call.

Her eyelashes were still damp, a few of them clumping wetly. She smelled like fruit.

“Jughead?”

“Uh, hi. Maria said you had a problem?”

“Yeah, she - isn't coming?” There was an unsure, anxious lilt in her voice, and he suddenly wanted to fix whatever was causing it.

“No, she's out of town and I kinda started doing stuff around here, so…” He held up the toolbox in his hand.

“Oh,” she remarked, before opening the door wider to allow him entry. When she closed it behind him, he cleared his throat.

“I'm guessing something in the bathroom broke,” he started, trying not to let his eyes linger on the damp skin covering her collarbones.

“Ha, yes, I don't usually sit around my house, half-showered. I, uh, almost slipped and grabbed the shower head and… well.” She nodded in the direction of her bathroom and he made his way, her padding along behind him.

The bathroom was humid and warm, and smelled strongly of what he assumed was her soap, the smell he’d noted upon her answering the door. As expected, the chrome showerhead was sitting in the bathtub innocently, and he resisted the urge to snort. He felt her eyes between his shoulder blades as he bent to pick it up, inspecting the fixture and then investigating the bathroom wall where it should be affixed to.

When he turned back to look at her, she was fiddling with the edge of her towel, eyes wide and striking. Jughead’s throat felt tight, so he forced himself to swallow, hoping to clear the feeling. It didn’t work.

“I’m no master plumber but I think we just need a new showerhead.”

Betty let out a puff of air, glancing down in relief.

“I didn’t do irreparable damage?”

“No,” he chuckled lowly. “I doubt it was even _mostly_ your fault. It looks old, it was probably loose anyhow, and the washer inside is all dried up and crumbly. The coupler is cracked, but I think that’s more out of age and you suddenly needing to grab it than anything else.”

“So…?”

“It would have had to be replaced soon anyhow, is my guess.” Jughead again looked closely at the exposed piping, nodding to himself. “So bad news is, I can’t fix it this second, cause I have to go to the hardware store for parts. Good news is, it’ll probably be fixed really quickly after that?” he offered.

“Whew.” Betty grinned thankfully. She raised a hand to her hair, and Jughead heard the faintly sticky sound the shampoo residue made as she pulled away again.

“That has to be uncomfortable,” he gestured in her general direction, ignoring the renewed burn on his cheeks. “Do you wanna rinse off?”

“You’re _holding_ my shower fixture,” she commented bluntly, as if it was obvious why she was soapy.

“I meant in _our_ shower, upstairs. Jelly won’t mind.” He paused, thinking. “Unless that’s weird. Is it weird?”

Betty laughed.

“Uh, it might be, but I don’t care. I’m cold, and sticky. So yes, please.”

Jughead’s stomach fluttered more insistently, and he set about grabbing his tool box and the pieces of the showerhead in order to take it with him to the store. Betty had disappeared, and a minute later she was back, flip flops on her feet and a bundle of clothing in her hands.

The made their way to the stairs after she locked her door, and she followed him up to the third floor. Jughead tried not to glance at her too many times, keeping his eyes front and centre as he let them into 308.

“That was quick,” JB’s voice drifted into the hallway from the living room. “What sort of disaster has befallen our neighbour?”

“Uh, her shower head broke mid-shower, and she’s here to use ours,” Jughead called, praying JB didn’t make any of the comments she had taken to making about Betty in his presence. A moment later, Jellybean was at the corner, poking her head around to see.

“ _Killer_ outfit, Betty,” Jelly remarked with a grin, and ushered Betty back towards their bathroom, the edge of her towel disappearing behind the door jamb. Jelly’s voice chatted away quietly, and he stopped trying to listen.

“I’m gonna go now!” he called after them, and received a chorus response of vaguely reverberating ‘okay’s. Jughead set his toolbox down by the front door, and made sure he had his keys and wallet. Trying not to think about what leaving Betty alone with Jellybean would result in, he shut the front door behind himself, locking the deadbolt into place.

* * *

 

When Betty emerged from the strangely familiar bathroom that was not _precisely_ like her own downstairs, Jellybean was sitting cross-legged in the centre of their couch with a thick book in her hands.

“Better?” she chirped, a smile flicking over her features.

“Much, thank you.”

Jellybean patted the empty space next to her.

“Jug’s not back yet, but you can hang with me if you like.”

“What are you reading?” Betty questioned, lowering herself onto the couch.

JB flipped the cover up so she could see. _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ stared back at her.

“Super cliche, but since I know nothing about babies _or_ being pregnant, it helps me trick myself into not having a meltdown.” Jellybean shrugged.

“My sister was terrified. I think she read that book like 17 times, probably.” Betty laughed.

“How old are they now?”

“They’ll be four next February.”

Polly and Jason had gotten the added surprise of twins on top of an unexpected pregnancy. Betty remembered the sheer panic but also the incredible joy her sister and her then-fiance had gone through.

“I’m super glad I didn’t get the two-for-one deal, myself,” JB said, setting the book down on the coffee table. “I think one is about as many as I can handle - on a good day.”

“Everything will be okay,” Betty consoled. “Your brother really cares about you, huh?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “He didn’t even… It took him like two seconds to ask me to live with him here. He didn’t even hesitate. I owe him big time.”

Betty heard a catch in her voice, and a fraction of a second later, the other woman’s eyes glossed over with moisture. Betty’s heart ached for her.

“Oh, Jellybean, everything will be _okay_ ,” she repeated, reaching out to clasp her hands tightly. They hadn’t known each other that long, but Betty had already felt a strong need to help the younger girl.

“You think?” JB asked, unsure, and Betty was struck with the notion that this was probably an abnormal trait for JB to be showing to other people. She recognized the flash of insecurity in her eyes.

“I _know_. I think _everyone_ thinks they won’t be a good parent, or won’t have a enough money, or they’ll screw their kid up. Like I said, Polly was terrified. And _she_ had Jason, the world’s calmest human. Everyone's worried they can't do it, but you're in a better position than most. You'll be a great mom.”

JB was quiet. She didn’t pull away from Betty’s hands, and they stayed like that until Jughead’s key scraped the lock back, announcing his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support of this fic. You guys continue to blow me away with your comments and love.
> 
> Some people talk/ask about JB in this fic, and what her story is (which, btw, thank you because I didn't know how well she was going to go over as such a central character, considering how I see her in my head has no basis in anything other than 'it feels right'). Don't worry, enough of her past will come out soon enough. There's a story there, though it's not the central point because Bughead is always my central her story line plays a part in things, so...
> 
> There's also some seriousness coming up, as well and ridiculousness. I may have accidentally fooled you into thinking this was just a fluff piece full of neighbourly love, but it actually has some more serious and dark points I'm going to touch on.
> 
> (SDCC2017 is over and we have been blessed. Let us bask in this from now until October 11th.)
> 
> Please leave me a comment, and let me know what you thought, what you think might happen, what you hope against hope for your little fangirling heart, whether it's about this or Riverdale in general. I am HERE for it all.


	5. Chapter 5

Jughead and Archie had been childhood friends back in Riverdale, predating their entire school careers, including kindergarten; they’d known each other since they were in diapers. That was how Jughead knew from the moment he saw Archie stroll through the front door of the pub that there was _something_ going on in the ginger’s head. He raised a hand, catching his attention.

“Hey, man,” Jughead greeted him, and Arch slid onto the stool beside him with a practiced, comfortable ease.

“Hey, starting without me?” he eyed the mostly-full beer in front of Jughead and grinned, reaching up to ruffle his hair nonchalantly.

“Beat of my own drum, etcetera.”

Archie snorted, and Jughead surveyed him silently as he ordered his own brew and pulled a menu toward himself.

“I need something dripping with grease and bad shit, and I need it _now_ ,” he mumbled, making Jughead laugh. Archie’s recent texts indicated that Veronica was on a healthy streak, and had banned all forms of saturated fat from entry into their apartment.

“Quick, order something deep fried,” he advised sagely. “Don’t give up on me now, buddy. _Stay with me_.”

“I won’t… give up… without a fight,” Archie announced back, voice strained with over exaggerated dramatism.

Once they’d both perused the food options and placed their orders - Jughead informing the waitress that under no circumstances was any fat to be drained off of anything of Archie’s, which earned them a weird look - they fell into casual conversation.

“How’s the new apartment?” Archie asked.

He knew Archie’s tone meant that he was asking a much broader question than the one he’d actually uttered, but Jughead wasn’t even sure to begin with any of them, regardless, so he answered as if he hadn’t detected the hidden inquiries.

“It’s good. Jelly’s got everything unpacked already.”

“I mean more… how are you doing living under the same roof as family again?”

Jughead took a moment to think, absently scratching one nail against the bar. This was something he had really been trying to avoid thinking about.

“It’s… It’s okay.” He nodded to himself after the words came out, acknowledging that they felt right, and so they must be true. “Yeah, they’re good. She’s - _different_ than I imagined, you know? But also just exactly the same as I remember.”

Archie gave him a loose smile.

“I just wonder if this is what she wants,” Jughead added lamely.

“What do you mean? Like, a surprise baby with a dude who clearly doesn’t give enough of a shit about her to take care of her after the fact is what she signed up for back in Riverdale? Cause I doubt that’s what she _wanted_. But it _is_ what happened.”

“No.” Jughead shook his head. “I mean, living with me. You know as well as I do that I’m not the easiest person to co-habitate with.”

Archie remained silent for a long minute.

“At the risk of sounding actually insightful for once, don’t you think that’s probably just how she feels about living with you?”

Jughead glanced at him from under his brow, contemplating, but Archie spoke up again, and he dropped his gaze.

“She hasn’t really had a huge relationship with you in the last ten years - and it’s not your guys’ fault, right, you know? It was the shitty circumstances you were dealt. But suddenly she has to call you up and ask for help, because shit went sideways for her, and you know as well as I do that your mom and dad are not in places where they can be much help. Not consistently, anyway.”

Jughead kept his eyes fixed on the dark stain of the wood, eyes tracing the almost-invisible grain, his brain clicking things over.

“Ronnie said JB’s terrified of taking advantage of you, and ruining whatever relationship she might be able to have with you now that you’re both adults. Dude, she - she felt alone in Riverdale, and now she has this opportunity to _not_ feel so alone by having her brother around, but things are complicated because she’s gonna be a mom and her kid doesn’t have a dad and she has to rely on someone else to make ends meet. Not ideal.”

“...Veronica said all that?”

“Well, actually, she had JB on speaker while she was in the bath and I overheard a lot of it myself so… it’s coming from a reliable source. But if anyone asks, I know _nothing_.”

Jug took a long draught from his glass, and when he finally looked over at Archie again, he gave him a pointed nod. Archie bobbed his head in understanding - this branch of conversation was over for the night.

“Speaking of Veronica…” Jughead probed, just as their food arrived and their drinks were refilled. He watched as Archie’s face softened around the edges at the mention of her name.

“Yeah.” Archie nodded, eyes flickering around the bar, a sudden bout childhood shyness rearing its head.

“Yeah?” Jughead’s eyebrows hiked up in not unpleasant surprise.

“Yeah.” The ginger’s accompanying smile was blinding.

“If I was a lesser man, the look on your face might have made me too sick to eat, but alas…” Jughead dipped a fry in ketchup. “Still, if you don’t put that sappy, lovestruck mug away, I will tell her all about the number of empty calories you’re drinking right now.”

* * *

 

Jughead slugged back home through the summer heat. Even at midnight, it was still humid and hot against his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed after eating whatever he could get his hands on. He’d been run off his feet all day.

He’d been working a lot of 4pm-12am stock shifts at the store, and spending his mornings and early afternoons doing odd jobs around the apartment building. It wasn’t hard work, really, but he was starting to consider taking it a bit lighter for a few days so he could catch up on sleep and maybe keep a good hold on his sanity.

Fortunately, the work was paying off. His bank account was steadily acquiring new funds, and Jelly was helping him around the building. She’d started working a few shifts a week at a nearby coffee shop, which he was thankful for. She hadn’t had much luck with other interviews, and the coffee shop wasn’t giving her as many hours as she really wanted because they knew she would be leaving in a relatively short amount of time. But still, he appreciated her contributions.

When he arrived home, though, Jelly wasn’t there. Her usual perch on the couch was empty, the dip in the cushions still visible, and her bedroom door was open to expose its emptiness. Jughead frowned and checked the time on the microwave, the dull glow clearly visible in the near-dark.

12:21.

Jellybean Jones was a 20 year old woman. She could look after herself, and he knew that. He never kept tabs on her - in fact, he made a point _not_ too - but it was out of the norm not to find her puttering around the apartment or fast asleep on the couch when he got home after a late shift.

He shot her a text, and her response was fairly quick. He was just stripping to jump in the shower when his phone chimed.

**I’m downstairs with Betty. I’ll be right up. I have dinner for you.**

Thanking his lucky stars that Jelly knew his top priorities, he climbed under the hot water and stood there motionless for a minute. His eyelids drooped and he took a deep breath of hot, humid air.

When he emerged, towel cinched around his waist, the apartment smelled like something delicious, and he wandered out to the kitchen to find the source.

“Okay, so,” JB launched right into conversation, “I think Betty is the best cook I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” She pulled a plate from the microwave and handed it to him, along with a fork. Jughead accepted it eagerly, his stomach curling in on itself in hunger. It looked to be lasagna, and Jughead completely ignored the visible green things and took a large bite anyway.

 _Heaven_.

There was pasta. There was sauce. There was meat, cheese, and spices. His eyes fell closed quickly and he didn’t bother opening them as he chewed. Jelly’s tinkling laugh moved away from him as she retreated, and Jughead just stood leaning against the kitchen counter in his towel and devoured the rest of the meal. Once he was done, his brain seemed to register he’d had food, and he could resume talking again.

“That was _so_ good,” he breathed.

“Yeah, she fed me, too. I concur. There was garlic bread as well, but we ate it all. Sorry.” She grinned, folding her feet under her on the couch.

“Why were you up there?” he asked, rinsing his plate and leaving it in the sink. It could wait until tomorrow, when he didn’t feel like his feet were about to fall off.

“Betty asked me if I wanted to help her with something for her work,” she replied. “She offered some under the table cash, plus she’s nice as fuck. But I wasn’t expecting dinner.”

“That’s really nice of her.”

“Yeah,” JB continued. “We ended up packaging like 250 wedding favours. She gets giggly after half a bottle of wine.”

The image of a flushed and laughing Betty Cooper flashed in front of his eyes and Jughead resisted the automatic curl of his lips.

* * *

 

“Is it always this busy?” JB asked, and Betty looked up from the selection of flowers spread out over the floor. She’d asked the other woman to help her assemble centrepieces for a wedding the next morning, and as such, they were surrounded by piles of freshly cut flowers that had been delivered less than an hour ago. JB had already helped Betty out with a massive amount of wedding favours and decorations in the last few days. The arrangement suited them both; JB made a little extra cash on the side, and Betty didn’t feel like she was constantly on the verge of pulling her hair out or so tired that she fell asleep sitting up.

“Summer is,” Betty answered. “It’ll be like this until the end of September, probably.”

Betty snagged another handful of irises and started distributing them in with the muscari. The girls worked in relative silence for awhile. JB had always seemed to be friendly to Betty, but now that they were more familiar, the lavender-haired girl didn’t incessantly chatter quite as much while they were working. She _hoped_ it was out of familiarity, anyway, rather than anything else.

“Where did you learn to do all this stuff?” Jellybean asked, passing her more hyacinth.

Betty wrinkled her brow.

“I don’t think I learned it in any one place,” she started. “My mom, she always had a thing for throwing parties. And then when I finished high school, I just started helping out at a family friend’s event company and…” She spread her palms. “The rest is history.”

JB regarded her quietly for a minute, her hands stilling.

“Thanks again for offering me a bit of extra income,” she stated, flicking her eyes back to the bundle of flowers in front of her.

“You’re the one helping _me_ out, really,” Betty assured her, not for the first time. “Having an extra pair of hands sometimes takes things from ‘Threat Level Midnight’ down to something bearable.”

“Oh my god, you watch -”

There was a knock at the door, cutting JB’s question off. Betty frowned, but rose and went to see who could be calling on a Tuesday afternoon, especially since she hadn’t buzzed anyone into the building. Betty opened the door.

“Hello!”

“Veronica?” came JB’s perplexed voice from the other room.

“Hi,” Betty greeted her. “Are you... here for JB?”

“No, Betty,” Veronica tilted her head. “I’m here for you!” The dark-haired beauty gave her a dazzling smile and held out a black envelope.

“What’s this?” Betty asked, and she heard JB approach behind her.

“Oh, are you inviting Betty, too?”

Veronica nodded over Betty’s shoulder.

“What is this?” she asked again, confused. The paper was thick and smooth against her fingertips, and the front was addressed to her in gold lettering.

“It’s an invitation to our Annual Labour Day Barbeque! You _have_ to come,” Veronica insisted.

“Oh, wow. Thank you. Are you sure?”

“Am I _sure_ _?_ " Veronica laughed lightly. “Of course I’m sure. JB speaks very highly of you, and any friend of Jug and JB’s is a friend of mine. Besides, I already know you’re fun.”

“There’s going to be food, so Jug and I are obviously going,” Jellybean piped up, and Betty realized belatedly that she hadn’t invited Veronica in yet. “You can catch a ride with us!”

“I’ll have to ask your brother first,” Betty stepped back, gesturing inside, and Veronica took the hint.

“You have your own invite - you don’t need to be his plus one,” Veronica quipped with an eyebrow quirk and Betty felt the familiar blush of crimson on her cheeks as she brushed by. “Though that _would_ be a nice change, Jughead bringing a date to one of my parties.”

“I meant ask him if he’s alright giving me a _ride_ ,” she clarified, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll give you a ride, too.” Veronica winked and JB’s mouth dropped open, the rest of her features elated.

 _“You actually said that,"_ she breathed, her eyes wide and focused on Veronica for a beat until they flew to Betty.

“Ha ha,” Betty responded, brushing the comment off. Her face was surely still pink. “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got half a bottle of rosé to finish and present company isn’t legal drinking age - and is also bound by impending motherhood.”

“Wine is my happy place,” Veronica announced by way of an answer.

JB lead Veronica into the living room where their mass flower assembly line was situated, and Betty stopped to pour two glasses of wine.

“JB, do you need a lemonade refill?” she asked as she came around the corner, but JB had her phone at her ear.

“Hey, Jug,” she paused. “No, no, Veronica invited Betty to their party and I said we’d give her a ride. That’s okay, right?”

Betty felt the flush revive and shook her head at Veronica as she handed her a glass. Veronica was surveying her face with a shrewd expression that made her feel vaguely off kilter. Betty pursed her lips, mildly uncomfortable, and resumed her spot on the floor as the other women settled on the couch.  

“Oh, good, I didn’t think it would be a problem,” JB announced pointedly and Veronica gave her an extremely pleased looking smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for the feedback on this! I'm still trucking along with it, and having a good time.
> 
> Leave me a note below! ❤︎


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written as two separate chapters but I didn't like the flow when I broke them up and haven't come up with a better solution so it's a massively long one. See you on the other side!

Jelly had been spending an increasing amount of time with the blonde from downstairs, and Jughead found himself more and more thankful for Betty Cooper every day that passed.

Jelly had always been a shifty, fidgety, unsettled sort of kid who needed to be working on something most of the time, and adulthood hadn’t changed that. Her part time job wasn’t enough to use up the energy that frizzled under her surface, and even helping him out a couple times a week wasn’t putting a dent in it. That usually meant that he would come home to an extremely chatty sister who couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes at a time unless, he soon found, she was watching The Princess Bride.

Helping Betty with whatever she needed a hand with gave Jelly not only an extra outlet, but conveniently gave Jughead an occasional chunk of time at the apartment alone. It wasn’t that Jelly was a burden; it was more about the fact that Jughead was used to spending a considerable amount of down time by himself. He was _used_ to the semi-solitary life he’d lived with Archie.

The two had been friends forever, and both had been accepted to schools in New York. They’d lived together for the entire time, all through school. Archie was a fairly popular guy and found himself out a lot more than Jughead did, especially after girls started becoming a regular thing - and then _specifically_ Veronica - hence Jughead’s acquaintance with time alone.

Jelly, even though she worked part time, usually worked when he did, and so whenever he was home, so was she.

Jughead had been so busy with the logistics of finishing school, moving, and getting them as ready as possible for the baby, that he hadn’t spent much time being able to write. His brain had been too occupied with other, more pressing problems, like damage deposits, how to maximize his shift schedule, and very recently, Betty Cooper.

And so he was grateful for a moment of silence, now.

With his feet propped up on the coffee table and his laptop perched comfortably on his thighs, Jughead opened a new word document and took a sip of coffee. Four pages of steady typing later, there was a knock at the door.

“Hi,” Betty greeted him. Her hair was in a bun, and her flyaways were being held back by an athletic headband. She held a small vase filled with colourful flowers, none of which Jughead knew the names of.

“For me? You shouldn’t have,” Jughead said by way of returning her greeting, making sure his grin was obvious so she wouldn’t think he was trying to be rude.

“Good thing I didn’t, then,” she responded in kind. “These are for JB. Is she home?”

“Uh, no,” he answered, stepping back to allow her entry. “She picked up a shift at the coffee place. But thanks, I’m sure she’ll like them.”

Betty held it out for him to take, and he plucked the vase from her fingers.

“Where does one _put_ flowers?” he questioned as he turned to walk back to the living room, more to himself than to her, but she provided an answer anyway, her feet following his.

“Wherever one wants, usually. Hey,” she lowered her voice a little, and Jughead glanced back over his shoulder at her. “Are you sure you’re okay giving me a ride to Veronica’s Labour Day thing?”

Jughead laughed, setting the glass container down on the dining room table.

“Why would I not be okay with that?”

“I don’t know. I’m just - making sure.”

The hesitant, unsure lilt that he'd heard the day of her shower catastrophe was back, and he resisted the urge to frown.

“No, it's really okay, Betty. You're not an inconvenience.”

Betty's eyes had always been wide and absurdly green, but as she stared up at him now, he could have sworn there was some sort of magnifying film between them. Her top and bottom lip touched briefly before she gave him a small smile in thanks. Jughead ignored the flip his stomach did as he realized he’d probably been staring too long, and looked away.

“I almost never want to go to these things,” he said, hoping that the recovery was smooth.

“I think it’ll be fun. Veronica’s been really friendly.” Betty smiled.

He hummed in acknowledgement, but left it at that.

* * *

 

Betty cast a glance over the room now that it had been unpacked and lived in a bit. The last time she was here, it had looked like a giant game of tetris with all the boxes everywhere. Jellybean had obviously had some time to kill; every bookshelf was full, pictures were hung on the walls, and it felt like people lived there. She spotted the laptop, his notebook, and the empty mug of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I interrupted your work.”

When she looked back, she found him watching her, his hands in his pockets and a pair of suspenders dangling down near his knees instead of crossing over his back and laying over his shoulders.

“I was on a four-page streak,” he informed her morosely, and her eyes widened with guilt. His expression cracked a half-second later. “I’m just kidding, Betty. Well, I _was_ on a four-page streak, but I don’t mind. And JB will surely not mind, because you brought her flowers.”

Feeling the fresh heat on her cheeks, she turned back to the room.

“I don’t think I ever asked what you do,” she stated. “What do you write?”

“Well, I went to _school_ for writing. I don’t get paid to write. Yet.”

“What _would_ you like to get paid to write?”

“Fiction.” There was a tone of such certainty in his voice, she looked up again. “I’d like to write fiction, but I’d also take writing for a paper or a magazine.”

“Are you a Sports Section kind of guy?”

Betty was surprised by the genuine rumble of the laugh that came out of him at that.

“Definitely not.”

The front door opened with no warning.

“Honey, I’m ho-ome,” JB called down the hall, the lock clicking into place a second later. The black-dressed woman came to a stop when she saw them standing in the living room awkwardly. “Betty! What a nice surprise!”

“I just came by to drop off some flowers for you, to say thank you for helping me the other day,” Betty offered hastily, pointing them out and giving JB a wide grin.

“You paid me with money, Betty. That’s all the thanks I need.” She laughed. “But they are pretty, thank you.”

There was another beat of silence, and JB’s eyes flicked to Jughead. Betty recognized the behaviour as sibling code, and suddenly felt out of place, like she was watching something she shouldn’t.

“Well, I should go,” she started.

“No, stay! I just got home.”

“Oh - thank you, that’s very nice, but I can’t. I have a conference call and then I have to go try matching some lace,” Betty answered.

“Oh, right,” JB said, nodding. “Well, have fun, and good luck!”

Betty made sure to give her a hug on her way, and she waved to Jughead from the front door before ducking out.

* * *

 

“You have to wear white,” Kevin said decisively, handing her another dress.

“It doesn’t say that on the invite.” Betty rolled her eyes but accepted the most recent garment anyway.

“It doesn’t need to. It’s Labour Day. It’s the last day of white clothing. You can’t _waste_ it,” her friend rebutted, as if it would be criminal not to wear white. His tone would have been more fitting if she had just told him she’d embezzled millions of dollars, or started forging counterfeit bills, or committed cold blooded murder.

“That rule was made up by some millionaires’ wives over a hundred years ago, Kev.”

Shopping wasn’t her favourite activity, but she found herself browsing in Kevin’s wake anyway, fingers walking over the hangers and running down fabrics that caught her eye.

“And yet, it’s kept alive,” the man rebutted.

“Only by people who care way more than _I_ do,” Betty half-heartedly grumbled.

“Look, you asked me for advice -”

“I did _not_ ,” Betty interjected. Kevin continued on as though she hadn't.

“- And so I’m helping. Here, try this one, too. So did you find out about the guys?”

Kevin Keller was a relentless force, on all fronts.

“Archie is dating Veronica,” Betty answered, resisting the urge to sigh. This topic of conversation was starting to get on her nerves. But when Kevin locked his teeth around something, he didn’t tend to let go very easily.

“That’s the ginger one, right? I need to meet these people, it’s so hard to keep this straight in my head.”

“You don’t have to. You could just let it go like a normal person.” He fixed her with a look, and she tipped her chin up in exasperation. “Yes, Archie is the redhead.”

Kevin added another dress to her pile without any comment on the garment itself.

“And Jughead?” he continued.

Single-minded menace.

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you friends with his sister? _And_ his best friend?” He was giving her another look.

_“And?”_

“Ask around, oh my god Betty. What is the point of having all these ins when you don’t use _any_ of them?”

* * *

 

“I really wish I had enough grace to wear heels and not fall flat on my face,” Jelly announced with a grimace.

“I wouldn’t be too concerned. Pol says fancy shoes and pregnancy never go well together, anyway. Her words, not mine.”

The blonde had Jelly’s pale violet hair in her hands and she was doing _something_ \- there were twisty motions and elbows held at unnatural angles during the process - but he had no idea what was going on over there.

“It’s being pregnant, Jug, it does something really fucky to my hair and I don’t know _what_ it is and I don’t know _why_ , but I’m half a step from shaving it all off and I doubt Ronnie will be _happily_ surprised if I show up bald.”

He’d held up his hands at that, assuming no opinion on the unnaturally coloured rat’s nest his sister had been sporting at the time, and instead, unlocked the door for Betty. It hadn’t really occurred to Jughead that he might have to steel himself before opening the door at her knock, but...

Jughead kept typing away on his laptop, dressed and ready to get going to Archie and Veronica’s Labour Day extravaganza. Betty had come up a half hour before, when Jelly couldn’t get her hair to do what she wanted. He was entirely aware that keeping himself focused on typing was keeping him from being caught staring at the amount of leg Betty was showing. Or, maybe it wasn’t the _amount_ of leg, because he’d seen her in the stairwell in dresses on her way to events and he’d seen her in shorts on the way to the gym, and he’d thought they were _nice_ everytime, in every iteration -

Maybe it _was_ the shoes. Jughead really didn’t get the draw of high heels, but these weren’t high heels. They weren’t super high, and they didn’t look spindly. They were the type that was solid underneath the whole foot - a wedge, maybe?

 _That_ just reminded him of pizza, and his stomach grumbled.

But the added, angled height under her feet made her calves look -

Well.

He _wasn’t_ looking, so he didn’t _know_. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

“What are you writing, Jug?” Betty asked, startling him into looking up at the two women hovering around the dining room table. JB was still seated, and Betty was standing behind her. Most of JB’s hair seemed to be taken care of, and Betty was just sliding another hairpin into the back.

“Good luck getting an answer,” JB mumbled back, flashing her eyes at Jughead in an obvious challenge. Despite his very honed better instincts, he felt the uncharacteristic rise to meet it.

“It's a think piece on foreign trade policies.” Jelly’s mouth dropped open, and Betty grinned from behind her. “Though it looks more like word vomit right now,” he added, waving a disillusioned hand at his screen.

Betty left JB, brushing around the table to stand behind Jughead’s spot on the couch, where she could see his mess of a document. Something lodged in his throat, and he resisted the vehement urge to snap the laptop shut and snark something in a cutting display of defensive self-protectionism.

“May I?” she asked, her voice close behind him.

He waved his hand at the screen again, tilting it back for her, and Betty leaned over the back of the couch to read from where it was perched on his lap. Jelly sat staring at Jughead, eyes burning into his, and he remained perfectly still while the blonde read his work in progress, his eyes never wavering from his sister’s. It was a show of strength, sure, but it was also to keep him from indulging in the nervous gurgling in his stomach, the strange need to fidget, and the sudden warmth under his collar.

“Interesting. I see your point on the latest addendum,” Betty commented a few long moments later, standing up again. Relief unclenched his innards, and he looked away from JB.

“May _I?”_ Jelly asked, making a considerable effort to mimic Betty’s tone, and pulling herself up from the table.

At that, Jughead drew the line.

“You may _not_. We have to go, anyway. We’re going to be late.”

* * *

 

“If you did Jellybean’s hair, does that mean you dressed Jughead, too?” Veronica asked, delighted, and Betty flushed. “Because I have never seen him looking more handsome than right now. He _never_ dresses up for my parties.”

Jughead was dressed in dark jeans, a green button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of navy suspenders in place. The beanie was still there, though his dark hair was swooped around under it, threatening to fall at a moment’s notice. Betty saw her point, though she also thought he was handsome regardless of his attire. She thought he was just as handsome in the ratty clothes he wore while repainting at the apartment building, or sanding dry wall putty smooth, but that was a morsel of information she kept to herself.

The raven-haired beauty was ravishing in a pair of boldly-striped, wide-leg pants that sat high on her waist, with a matching white crop top baring a sliver of tanned midriff. Betty thought she looked like a supermodel. All the people milling around in the rooftop terrace were dressed in similar quality pieces, and Betty felt very thankful to Kevin for making her buy the _nice_ white dress instead of the more casual one they had also been eyeing at the shop.

“No, that was all him,” she responded, meeting Jughead’s eye around JB and Archie hugging hello. “Right, Juggie?”

It slipped out.

Betty’s eyes widened and she prepared herself to bury her head in embarrassment, but in an unexpected turn of events, Jughead’s mouth quirked. The arrangement of his features made something warm spread inside her, encircling her lungs, and he held her gaze for a fraction of a second longer than she might have expected, considering.

“I dressed myself, thank you very much, Veronica. I _am_ capable.”

Veronica hummed thoughtfully in response, surveying him with single-minded focus through her dark lashes, and Betty saw the creep of pink on Jughead’s neck. She felt something similar along her collarbones and behind her ears, so she cleared her throat.

“Oh, look, more guests,” she pointed, hoping it wouldn’t be too obvious to Veronica that she was trying to bail the pair of them out from under her suspicious eye. “Let’s get a drink and leave Veronica to play hostess.”

Leaving Veronica, JB and Archie to their own devices, Jughead and Betty started for the bar, but were both happy to stop at one of the side rails, the view overlooking the city breathtaking. The summer haze of hot days could be seen clearly, and Betty looked around in earnest. She’d never seen the city this high up before, not from the Upper East Side. Jughead bent down and leaned his forearms against the rail, looking out with her.

“Don’t think for a second that would have worked if the ‘guests’ you mentioned hadn’t been one of Veronica’s father’s old friends,” he commented. Betty looked back to see Ronnie engulfing one of the men at the entrance in a big hug, and introducing him to Archie and JB.

“Noted,” she muttered. “Uh, sorry - about the… _Juggie_.”

“Not a big deal, _Betts_.” He looked over at her from his hunched position, and she rocked back on her heels, holding onto the rail with both hands. Willing her flush to stay down, she turned her back on the view and leaned against the barrier instead. The sky above them was a clear blue, as far as the eye could see, which under the circumstances, was quite far. The noise of the city seemed so far away up there.

They fell into silence again, the party around them ebbing and flowing. Veronica’s voice could be heard in unintelligible snippets, and Archie’s laughter floated along on the summer breeze.

“They’re good at that,” Betty commented, watching them.

Jughead straightened and turned, leaning against the rail as she had, elbows braced against the top edge.

“Yeah, they are,” he agreed. “I never thought Archie was one for this kind of stuff -” he motioned around them vaguely “- but he’s actually really good at making Veronica look good, which she loves. Not that she even needs his help, really.”

Betty nodded. She could see what he meant. Archie was a great compliment to Veronica. They fit together, personality-wise. Archie tempered Veronica in a way that Betty didn’t know how to vocalize, not having known them long or well enough, and Veronica bolstered him in return. It was surprising, but genuine, and it made Betty want to capture the essence of them so that she could examine it closer, at a later date, and figure out what exactly it was that made true love _true._

“I think your writing is pretty good,” she blurted. Her goal had been to say _something_ but she had been hoping for a bit more suavity.

“Thanks,” Jughead replied after a moment. “You shouldn’t really base your opinion on that one alone, though. It wasn’t even fully assembled.”

She got the distinct impression he was being self-deprecating and doubting his own talent. So, she took it in the opposite direction.

“I guess you’ll just have to let me read more so I can form a well-rounded opinion.”

Jughead opened his mouth, and closed it again. When she saw the twitch indicating another try at a comeback, a tinkling ring startled them both.

“Oh, shoot,” Betty whispered, digging her phone out. “Oh, no. I have to get this, I’ll be -”

She half-turned from Jughead, swiping to answer the call.

_“Betty?”_

“Hi, Ginger.”

 _“Hi,”_ the breathless voice on the other end began. _“I have a situation.”_

* * *

 

“My coworker needs my help. I have to go,” she sighed, for her part, looking fairly unhappy about having to leave the view. Her blonde hair shone in the sunlight, and her white dress set off the hint of a tan on her shoulders. If brains could snap pictures, his would have filled an album.

“Oh,” Jughead said, caught off guard, “sure. Do you want me to take you?”

Immediately, he wasn’t sure if that was something he should have offered, but apparently _playing it cool_ wasn’t something Jughead Jones did anymore. He didn’t mind taking her, if it would help her fix a clearly problematic situation for a coworker.

“You don’t even know how far away it is,” she commented lightly, sending him a side-glance.

“How far _is_ it?” he inquired, arching a brow, knowing there was a smug look on his face.

“Not far. I can cab. You should enjoy the party. Stay,” she pressed, her fingertips touching the back of his wrist with a fleeting sensation of skin on warm skin.

“It won’t take long,” Jughead continued, forcing his eyes to look up from where she’d brushed him. “I’ll be back before dinner, don’t worry.”

Betty regarded him silently for a moment, her eyes searching, skittering over his features.

“Alright,” she acquiesced with the hint of a grin on her lips, turning on her heel. For a smaller-than-him human, she could move deceptively _fast_. “But if Veronica gets mad at me for taking you away from the party, it’s on you.”

“That hardly seems like a fair division of blame,” he called, laughing, “but, deal.”

He followed after her, looking anywhere but the backs of her legs.

They beat a hasty retreat to the Honda, and Betty directed him to a nearby building, not even ten blocks from where Ronnie’s party was taking place, spending the whole seven minutes in the car apologizing between frantic text exchanges and four panicked phone calls that never seemed to take more than 30 seconds.

“Thank you again, Jughead,” she said sincerely, turning in her seat to face him more. In that moment, he _missed_ the nickname.

“It’s no problem,” he responded, light. “If you, uh, finish up quickly and want to come back to the party, text JB and I’ll come get you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be my chauffeur.” She laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well... do you at least have cab money, just in case?”

The sweet smile she gave him from the passenger seat was enough to melt polar ice caps, probably. There was something around her eyes, something different, something related to the molasses-slow smile spreading over her lips, and it tugged a peculiar feeling to the forefront of his mind.

“Yes, thank you for making sure.” She squeezed his arm before popping the door open and climbing out delicately. In the process, Jughead was treated to a flash of her inner thighs and he looked away quickly. Betty shut the door and brushed the white fabric of her dress back into place as she stood on the pavement, leaning down to poke her head back through the open window. “Have a good time, in case I don’t see you again tonight.”

When she turned to dash into the nearest building, Jughead let out a slow breath, dragging his palms down over his face.

* * *

 

Three hours later, Betty emerged again, sweaty, tired, hungry, and in need of a drink. The night was warm, the buildings giving off the glowing heat of summer still, even though the sun was starting to sink in the sky, and the street had been thrown into shadow.

Should she go back to the party? She checked her watch. It was probably still going strong.

Despite her reasoning with herself about not being ready to date again, about not having the time - she found herself heading back in the direction of Veronica’s party.

 _Juggie_.

She hadn’t even had a moment to stop and think since arriving to help Ginger, but her walk along Park Avenue gave her a chance to breathe. Fresh embarrassment tinged with something _more_ started to bloom on her cheeks at the memory of the nickname that had just _slipped out_ in casual company. The look he’d given her had not been one she’d been expecting at the outburst. She knew him to be somewhat quiet and reserved, and she would have assumed he’d be just as embarrassed by the pet name as she had been. But…

Instead, he’d given her that tiny, secret smile and lip quirk that had made her throat close momentarily, and a little _Betts_ in return.

The doorman recognized her from earlier, when Jughead had hastily explained she had an emergency, but might be back later. He let her up, and the elevator ride was significantly more lonely than it had been the last time.

The sun was bright and blazing in the west, low in the sky. Windows all over the city were glaring, the rays catching and reflecting off the sheets of glass at every angle imaginable. There were still some people milling around the open patio, grouped around ficuses, gathered at the bar, lounging on the high-end outdoor furniture, but the number seemed to be dwindling by the minute.

Betty glanced around for any recognizable faces, pausing to claim a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. After a few minutes of searching, she spotted a familiar grey beanie perched on the head of someone sitting on one of the couches near an open fire pit.

“Hey.” She announced her arrival, unsure of what to open with. _“Are you single?”_ seemed too… gauche.

“Hey.” Jughead glanced around. “You’re back. How’d it go?”

“Well,” she sighed, taking the spot next to him, careful to leave a good six inches between them to discourage any urges to touch him again. “One side of the family had some major food allergies that we were super clear about, but there was a mix up, of course, and so they weren't able to eat anything at the reception.”

“I can’t imagine a more horrible hell than a food allergy,” he commented, rubbing his stomach and making her grin.

“They agreed.” Betty raised her glass a fraction and tilted it in his direction before taking another sip. “Where’s JB?”

“Oh, I sent her home in a cab earlier. She was dozing on this couch here so I figured…”

More people were leaving.

“But you stayed?”

“Evidently.”

They watched as other guests said goodbye to each other, many trailing over to the elevators and glancing around for their hosts.

“Seems like it’s winding down,” Betty commented softly, looking away from him. The champagne bubbles were sliding around in her stomach, and she swore they were tingling along her skin in just the same fashion. “I should find Archie and Veronica, and thank them.”

“Even though you were hardly here long at all?” Jughead teased. He set his own glass down - water, she noted - and held out a hand to pull her up.

“They were over here, last I saw.” Jughead dropped her hand when she was standing, and turned to lead her over to one side of the terrace, a line of large potted ferns and more ficuses shielding their eyes from the setting sun. When he came to a sudden stop, Betty moved around to his side to see what had halted him.

She recognized the scene instantly.

Archie was bent, down on one knee, and gazing up at Veronica with a look of such complete and utter _adoration_ that it brought tears to her eyes in an instant. Veronica was standing stock still, hands covering her mouth, with tears spilling down her cheeks at whatever words Archie had chosen to say in this moment.

“Oh no,” Jughead breathed, throwing out an arm to stop her. “We should go.”

“ _Oh no?_ What are you talking about? We should stay and _congratulate_ them!” she whisper-hissed back, still watching them from around the greenery. Jughead’s hand closed around her elbow and he tugged her back gently, retreating in the direction they had just come from.

“No, Betty, I _know_ them. There’s gonna be nakedness any second, and I’m begging you - I don’t want to see any more of Archie and Veronica than I already have.”

“What? I’m not done my champagne,” Betty lamented, taking another sip. Jughead let her finish and plucked the flute from her hand, setting it down on the edge of one of the outdoor fire pits and resumed pulling her along behind him.

“They’re a very _open_ couple - c’mon, let’s go.”

Betty’s giggles were making him shoot her exasperated glances, and it really wasn’t helping the situation. The way his brow crinkled made the will to actually _stop_ laughing flag considerably.

“Are you saying they asked you about a threesome?” she hissed, clutching her side as he pulled her quickly across the rooftop. The champagne combined with missing dinner entirely meant that what little alcohol she’d consumed had gone straight to her head, and she had to stifle even more laughter.

 _“Betty Cooper,”_ he gasped in playful exasperation, and continued with, “no, thank god, I was just the _lucky_ soul that always seemed to walk in on them. Even if ‘walking in on them’ would usually be more accurately described as ‘catching them on the balcony, your shared and formerly-sacred space’.”

Betty burst into renewed giggles, and he fought the urge to laugh along with her while repeatedly hitting the call button for the elevator.

Betty made her way over to his Honda for the third time that night. When they were both in and buckled, she leaned her shoulder against the passenger side window and surveyed him.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked him, giving him the ghost of the look she’d given him before, when he’d made sure she had a way to get home after work - which had seemed like the right thing to do, but she clearly wasn’t used to that.

“Yeah.” He nodded, feeling a sympathetic grin form on his own face. “I know I complain… but yeah.”

* * *

 

“Who’s Kevin?” Jughead glanced up at Jelly the next morning over breakfast, trying to keep his face flat and devoid of emotion. Betty had mentioned Kevin on several occasions since he’d met her, and his curiosity wasn’t allowing him to ignore this fact any longer.

“You mean Betty’s _very super gay best friend_ Kevin?” she replied with an infuriating smirk.

“Oh.” He had nothing else on tap for a response.

“Yeah.” She laughed, going back to eating her pancakes, and thankfully, she made no other comment except - “If that’s your way of asking if Betty is single, then yes, she’s single.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, lovelies. Leave me a comment. There two are so sjhdgfcnkserjhgtslifgu, you know?


	7. Chapter 7

Jughead stared down at the unfrosted cake. He had _tried._ _Really_ tried.

It was Jelly’s birthday, and she was out working a day shift. So Jughead had decided to bake her a birthday cake to celebrate when she got home, a birthday cake like the ones their mom used to make when they were little. When they had still lived under the same roof.

He was _positive_ he’d followed the recipe to the letter, but there was the finished product, looking quite sad and sunken in the middle. When he turned it out to cool, it was also dense—too dense. Like high-density construction foam.

Not like cake. Not like cake at all.

Well, fuck. The mess he’d made of the kitchen was a total waste. He looked around at the flour smears and grimaced. He was no good at this.

 _Domesticity_.

Jelly had been spoiling him. She usually managed to cook meals for them both, thereby making sure he was getting his daily vegetable intake—or as close to it as she could get. Living with Archie, it had been the epitome of _bachelor pad,_ and that extended to the contents of their fridge and freezer. Made up largely of microwave dinners, eggos, and one-step shove-in-the-oven type deals, having someone _make_ food from separate ingredients was new and he was thoroughly enjoying it.

If it wasn’t a cake for _her_ birthday that he was trying to make, he would have asked her for help.

Funfetti cake wasn’t brain surgery. Or rocket science. And yet…

If he was honest though, Jelly’d been stepping up her game. Their collection of herbs and spices was growing, and the fridge was pleasantly full of both fresh and delicious things.

It probably had something to do with the fact that Jellybean was spending even more time talking to Betty, who just so happened to be a talented cook herself. And for that, Jughead was enormously thankful, because good food was good food, and he treasured it. However, Jelly had been working a lot recently and hadn't seen their neighbour in a few weeks.

None of this helped him right now, though. Because the cake was a surprise for Jelly, and he was running out of time to fix it.

He could just run to the store and _buy_ a cake. Except—he was trying to be sweet, after what Archie had said about JB feeling alone in Riverdale, and how she was trying to figure out if her and Jughead could have something a little more stable than they’d had during childhood. He was _trying._

Maybe Betty was home…

Jughead glanced down in the hopes he would hear a loud thump from the apartment downstairs, indicating the affirmative. None came, and he remained standing in the kitchen at a loss for another few minutes. Should he go ask her for help?

He’d seen Betty around the apartment building, taking out the trash or carting her laundry down to the basement, or curled up on his couch with his sister, even. But they hadn’t had any reason to share more than the casual greetings and polite elevator conversation.

He’d been sitting on Jelly’s declaration of _‘if that’s your way of asking if Betty is single, then yes, she’s single’_ for the better part of September, and he was at a standstill. She was so kind and light and good, and he…

Well, he saw the way she looked at him. He’d seen it in the car, when he’d dropped her off at her work. He’d seen it when he’d tugged her away from Veronica and Archie, giggling incessantly. And he _knew_ he looked at her in just the same way. He could feel the change on his face. He had a mask, and he’d had one for as long as he could remember, one that he’d fashioned specifically to keep people at arm’s length.

So he _noticed_ the changes, even the ones he had no control over. Warm cheeks, fluttering stomach, a sudden predisposition for dropping things.

He noticed.

But scarred people like him didn’t get the golden blonde slices of perfection like Betty Cooper.

They didn’t _match._ They were incongruous _. And yet..._

* * *

 

The finish line for the massive stack of invitations on her dining room table was in sight. Betty had been working on assembling the invites, the reception cards, the RSVP cards, the direction cards. Each little package was making its way into the thick, gold-embossed envelopes and having stamps applied. As they made their way into the ‘ready-to-be-sealed’ box, Betty lined them all up, delicate calligraphy facing her with each new addition.

A glance outside provided a glimpse of sun from between the clouds.

Summer was singing its farewell, the nights becoming cooler and the days much less sweltering. The leaves were still mostly green on the trees, but their vibrancy had started to fade with the changing of the seasons. Betty was looking forward to work slowing down a bit, to being able to breathe, to maybe leaving her house for something other than a work emergency or a food imperative. It had been almost a month since Veronica and Archie’s Labour Day party—it was misleading to call it a _Barbeque_ when there had been caterers and champagne—and she’d hardly had time to stop and chat with Jughead or JB in the past weeks. To their credit, they always seemed quite busy themselves, and JB and Betty kept up to date via texts.

Jellybean had taken to helping Jughead around the building and Betty often spotted them hard at work, JB handing stuff up to Jughead on a tall ladder or holding something in place as he fixed it. She always gave them a big smile, and they’d promised to catch up soon. It just hadn’t happened yet.

Betty had asked JB if she wanted to help her out with the last crunch for this wedding prep, but the young woman had picked up a block of shifts to cover for someone’s vacation at work. Being on her feet constantly throughout the day had proven to be more of a challenge than Jellybean had anticipated, and so Betty could hardly beg her to help when she knew the woman was swollen and puffy with discomfort.

She was just thinking about making some coffee to help her through the last push of packaging when there was a knock at the door. Betty set down the wax seals she was searching through.

A quick glance through the peephole brought a small smile to her face, and she pulled the door open.

There, on her threshold, was Jughead, holding what looked like an unfrosted cake that had seen better days.

“For me? You shouldn't have.” Betty grinned widely and watched the recognition flit across his features. He'd said the very same thing to her when she'd brought leftover flowers up for JB last month.

“Ha-ha,” he started. “It's not for you—it's for JB.”

“Has she done something wrong?” Betty chuckled at her own joke, stepping aside to let Jughead in.

“You're on a roll this morning, aren't you?” he copped back before striding past her into her apartment beyond.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever,” she voiced, drifting after him, and when he came to a stop in the middle of her living room, she caught up to him. “And not that you aren’t welcome, but why are you here to see me with a very sad-looking cake as your plus one?”

“Ha,” Jughead remarked, shifting his feet. Betty gazed up at him expectantly. “It’s Jelly’s birthday and I was _trying_ to make her a cake.”

 _“Oh,”_ Betty breathed. “I didn’t know! Jug, that’s so nice of you.”

“Except for the fact that I can’t bake, apparently.”

To her credit, Betty tried to keep a straight face, but her brief glance back at the pan he had balanced on one palm prompted her need to raise a hand to her face in order to shield her grin from his view. When she removed it a moment later, she made sure her lips were clamped together with the help of her teeth, and he shook his head at the grin she knew was threatening to break her face.

“I know, I _know._ But I tried?” he offered, features desperate and pleading.

“You want my help.”

It was a statement, a very accurate one, and he knew she knew it.

“I really do.” Jughead nodded. “But it’s more of a cautiously optimistic hope, really, because I didn’t know if you’d even be home.”

“Lucky for you, I am.” She reached for the pan he was still holding, plucking it from his hand and bringing it up to her face for a closer examination. “What exactly was the end goal?”

“Funfetti with vanilla frosting,” he laughed out, and trailed after Betty when she turned in the direction of her kitchen.

“It looks like you either didn’t preheat the oven, or over-mixed the batter.” She looked up from her counter where she had set the pan, eyes skimming over his features. Jughead’s cheeks warmed under her gaze, pink tinge creeping along his skin until it disappeared into his hairline. “Or both,” she spoke again, her lips quirking to the side.

“Both. Probably both. Definitely both,” he assured her.

“Okay,” Betty started, taking a slow breath. They would need to make a new one, and she probably had everything for a vanilla cake and frosting. She mentally ticked off the ingredients she remembered from her grandmother's recipe.

“Okay?” Jughead prompted after an extended bout of silence. Betty looked up at him again, standing on the other side of her kitchen with his hands tucked into his pockets, before she reached over to turn on the oven.

“Go get your sprinkles, Jones. We have a cake to bake.”

* * *

 

“Okay, stir. But _slowly_ this time,” Betty instructed.

The batter Jughead was mixing smelled amazing, the extra vanilla that Betty had added remaining fragrant even after she had added the flour in batches. The last cupful, combined with his enthusiasm, had resulted in a big puff of flour all over them and the counter. Betty had laughed off his profuse apologies, dusting the white coating from his shirt with her dishtowel.

“It’s really thick,” Jughead commented, stirring in the last of the dry ingredients and scraping down the sides of the bowl like Betty had shown him approximately 6 minutes before. She didn’t respond and so he looked up.

Betty’s lips were pursed tightly, her eyes sparkling, and he realized—

“Just say it.” Jughead sighed, feeling the constant blush from today darken along the tips of his ears.

“That’s what she said!” burst from her lips, and she chuckled about it for a solid minute as she tidied the counter up and prepped the freshly-cleaned pan. “Here.” Betty held out the container of multicoloured sprinkles he’d brought down from his apartment. “It’s ready for these. Don’t overmix!”

Jughead dumped the remainder of the container into the bowl of cake batter. The little bits of colour gathered in all the nooks and crannies before he grabbed the spatula again to give it one last stir. Jelly was going to be so happy, and Betty had seriously saved his ass.

“Okay, stop, or the colour will run,” Betty piped up a few moments later. Jughead immediately dropped the spatula, deferring to her clear expertise. “Hold the bowl for me?”

“Like this?” he said, holding and tipping it a little.

“Like _this.”_ Betty guided his hold by putting her hands over his for a brief moment, encouraging him to tip more, the batter sliding closer to the edge of the bowl. In a flash, her fingers were gone from his, but the heat remained.

Betty slid the pan into place and scraped all the batter into it while Jughead held his position. He could feel the heat from her body, so close to his, their arms in a loose sort of tangle as they worked over the same patch of counter. Before he knew it, all of the batter was in the pan and she was sliding over on the worktop with it, putting a reasonable gap between them again. He watched as she smoothed it around evenly with an elegant sort of deftness.

Just as Betty bent down to slide the whole thing into the hot oven—and Jughead was trying to avoid letting his gaze linger on the view—his stomach growled loudly, protesting the number of hours it had gone without being fed.

“Are you hungry?” Betty asked, brushing wisps of hair back from her face and closing the door of the oven with a soft hand.

“It seems silly to deny it, at this point. Hey,” he said and paused, surveying Betty’s dining table, eyes flickering over the bits of ribbon and stacks of card with loopy writing on it, “how about I get us pizza or something. Chinese? It’s the least I can do considering you’ve single-handedly saved me from embarrassment today. _And_ you look like I definitely interrupted what Jelly likes to call ‘A Betty Whirlwind’.”

The sound of Betty’s laugh rang out, and when he turned back to her, she had her head thrown back with mirth.

“A ‘Betty Whirlwind’?” she prompted, eyes sparkling.

“Yeah.” Jughead felt the corners of his mouth tugging up in the direction of his cheeks. “You know, when you just”—he flapped his hands around vaguely—“finish all the things.”

“I wish I was done all the things,” she said with a sigh, throwing a glance at the dining room table before grabbing a cloth and wiping the flour he’d spilled into her sink.

“Do you need help with something? I am willing and able. Well,” Jughead paused, hedging his words and leaning a hip against her counter again, “ _able_ is maybe overstating it a bit. But I can and will _try_ to help.”

“Oh, no, I have plenty of time to finish this round of stuff. Jelly _might_ like the opportunity to sit and make money next week instead of standing on her feet all day. _But!_ ” Betty exclaimed, index finger flying up at her thought, and disappeared around the corner of the kitchen with no further explanation. Jughead could hear her shuffling down the hallway, and the small squeak of her pulling open what he thought was probably her linen closet.

When she appeared again, she had a box of lightbulbs in her grip.

“Care to lend me your height advantage? And then I will take you up on your offer of takeout.”

Jughead watched her sidle slow as she neared him again, and he held out his hand with a knowing look.

“Taking advantage of me, Cooper?”

The tip of her tongue caught between her teeth before she answered.

“Maybe, but your face says you like it.”

* * *

 

_“Maybe, but your face says you like it.”_

Jughead dragged a hand down over his cheek, pulling at the skin of his face. He’d gone his whole life being able to keep a shroud of mystery cloaked around himself. People had often said that he was hard to read, that his face didn’t often betray his thoughts or feelings, and _that_ had been something that had acted somewhat like a security blanket for him through the years.

He didn’t want to have deep discussions on a first date in a coffee shop. He didn’t want to bring up old wounds during one of Archie’s jamfest lulls. He didn’t want to rehash his childhood traumas the morning after—however few of those he’d had. He didn’t want to explain to people—other parents, teachers, classmates, even friends—how fucked up his family was, and how miserable he’d been growing up after his mom had left. Granted, life before that milestone had been no walk in the park, but at least all the Jones’ had been under one roof. At least Dad leaving with a slam of the door had meant he’d be back in less than 12 hours, apology quick and heavy on his tongue. At least that had meant being able to curl up with Jelly in her very small ‘big girl’ bed, and reading to her, drowning out the noises of arguing parents. At least that had meant _together._

The last of the summer sun warmth was bathing the sidewalk in a warm glow, and Jughead’s brain tried to take him off on a journey of finding the exact right description for it, before he brought himself to a halt.

Escapism wasn’t going to help him right now. He was avoiding thinking about how all of this—all of _Betty_ —was affecting him. It had been a realization he hadn’t delved into yet, one he’d been avoiding for the sake of his sanity. It made his chest swell, but also made his stomach drop.

Because here was thing—

He wanted Betty. He wanted to see more of her in his days. He wanted to see more of her skin. He wanted to put his mouth all over her. He wanted to take her out and make her smile and maybe even fall asleep next to her eventually.

But where Jughead _wanted_ Betty, Jellybean _needed_ her.

Not in the same way, of course, because they were good friends, and not trying to date one

But Jellybean needed Betty. Betty was her only friend outside ones he himself had provided for her, and any acquaintances she may have made through work. Betty held a lot of Jellybean real estate, in a sense. She was a friend. She knew more practical knowledge about being pregnant, because her sister had a pair of twins. She provided idle company, and also additional income for Jelly. She was a friendly face. One that Jellybean sincerely needed, if what Archie had relayed at the bar had been true, which Jughead didn’t doubt for a moment.

Jellybean needed Betty more than Jughead wanted her. Or—maybe it just meant more, for Jellybean, because Jughead really did want Betty.

There were many times through their childhoods where they had drawn the short end of the stick, metaphorically. But Jughead would not be the cause of Jellybean losing a good friend at a time when she desperately needed one, just because Jughead decided to put himself before her.

If Jughead started dating Betty, and things somehow didn’t work out… Jughead wouldn’t be able to live with himself if JB and Betty’s friendship suffered because of something _he_ did to mess everything up.

So this round had to go to JB.

* * *

 

Betty scrubbed at the counter furiously, cheeks still hot and pink.

 _Why_ would she have said that?

_“Maybe, but your face says you like it.”_

Jughead had blushed and stammered through a half-formed thought about going to get them Chinese takeout—did she want any? What was her favourite dish?—before he’d dashed out of her apartment, leaving her to wallow in the awkwardness of her unintended advance.

She should have known from his closed-off nature that Jughead wouldn’t respond well to a direct advance.

Well, in reality, she had sort of stumbled into it herself. It had just popped out before she’d had time to stop it.

Betty’s fingers tapped out an anxious pattern on the countertop when she came to a standstill.

She would have to let him set the tone when he got back. If he wanted to ignore it completely, she would too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile! If you follow me on tumblr, you probably know that real life threw me a few curveballs, and that's why I haven't been able to post much. But I'm trying to find that new balance of real life to creative pursuits, so bear with me. Once I finish this, I have more on the way, so by no means am I peacing out of the fandom just yet. 
> 
> Be lovely, leave a review. Is anyone still reading?


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